distaccato e libero
by SaccharineLethargy
Summary: What if instead of seeking love, Bianchi run from it. She will not be shackled by anything. Be it by a man or life. She is free, and she will stay free. (SI!Bianchi)
1. Chapter 1

**disclaimer: _Katekyō Hitman Reborn! _家庭教師ヒットマンREBORN! doen't belong to me!**

* * *

_**1- a shot at living:**_

* * *

"**Are you sincere? Are you yourself? Are you as you look? You don't have a mask on your face? You speak what you think? Then you are real, then you are not fake!"  
****― Mehmet Murat ildan**

* * *

Life in the end was meaningless;

It held no value, no point and no purpose.

It was pointless; there was no objective, no structure, no light in the end of the tunnel, just darkness, an endless darkness. An everlasting promise of meaning. That if you reach enough checkpoints and got enough medals, you will have a purpose. Pressure of being all and doing it all. A culture of competition and perfection rewarding statues, performance and appearance.

Being nice, good: worth nothing. Making people happy: worth nothing, nada. Esthetic: nada. Reputation: nada. Good school: nada, valedictorian: nada. Having friends: nada.

Everything was a lie in the end. Poisoned sweet lies. False sense of meaningfulness while waiting for the end. Trying to reach the unreachable perfection. Perfection is unattainable therefore; nothing really matters. Being at the top isn't happiness, hiding behind a "false-self" isn't happiness.

"in a world of lies and half-truth, nothing really matters."

Life was meaningless and in the end, everyone get lost.

Melody Hope Payton was lost too.

She was 21 years old, a med student, from a respectable family, third child to a CEO, never stepped a toe out of line, never drunk, never smoke, never got high, never missed a single day of school, never skipped, never went to a college party and never dated. She followed every rules her control freak parents laid for her, she adorned the perfect mask and met every expectation.

She did ballet and gymnastic when she wanted kendo.

Learned piano instead of the guitar she longed for.

Stopped art lessons for school committee.

Did med school when she hated biology with a passion, she was a math person after all.

Read med books instead of the novels she wished to read.

Stopped hanging with friend for the sake of cram school and studying.

Watched her crush fall in love with someone else.

She smiled when needed, laughed when required.

She was the perfect child.

Her family was the perfect modern family.

Her father was a narcissistic bastard who thought that everyone should bow down to him.

Her mother was the picture of trophy wife; broken dreams and plastic smiles.

Her oldest brother was her father's shadow; too busy walking his father's steps to care about anything else.

Her other brother escaped at his first chance without a glance back, enlisting in the army, never to be seen again.

Her younger sister was a spoiled brat, she was the youngest so she has to be the artist, her plan was fluid, uncertain, ready to be molted in any form she wished.

Everything was perfect.

Everything went unperturbed.

Everything went as planned.

And when everything got too much, she bleed it out. With every drop of bad blood, she got better until it got too much again. She painted the world red with her despair; transfixed with the scarlet drops.

She hated her too wide smiles, her fake throaty laughs, too out place, too pained, too hollow, too desperate.

Weak. she was weak. BROKEN, PATHETIC, HELPLESS, HOPELESS, USELESS, WORTHLESS and LOST. SO…SO LOST.

Most days she was hollow, an empty shell.

Other days she was angry, just angry; sometimes at herself, her useless pathetic self; other times at her parents, her friends for giving up on her or at life for it unfairness.

Resentment and bitterness were a daily medicine.

Until it was no more. Until she was no more

One night, a winter night, a cold night; while walking thorough the city; her steps clicking against the concrete. Some young driver lost control over their car.

Broken bones and squished organs.

Painful but quick.

And abrupt end.

Melody was still lost though.

She lived a meaningless life and had a meaningless death.

Melody hope Payton was me.

It used to be me.

I played the game, followed the rules and it still went game-over on me.

No meaningful death, no selfless act or altruistic sacrifice; just some idiot's mistake and BAM my life value went back to zero. It wasn't even my fucking mistake. I followed all the rules and still lost.

I was walking down the street, then horrendous pain followed by the nothingness and then suddenly senses overload; I was once more.

Birth, death, rebirth. An endless circle of joy and loss.

Acceptance is a person's assent to the reality of a situation, recognizing a process or condition without attempting to change it or protest it.

Here's the thing about acceptance. In many cases, we don't have a choice. We can't just reject something; rejecting doesn't change our reality, it just causes more confusion, pain and agony…

I did went through with all the stages.

Betrayel, denial, anger, depression and finally acceptance

I accepted my situation, I don't believe in reincarnation but sadly it was the only fitting explication even though the fact was that I should have forgotten my past life.

Wasn't rebirth all about new beginnings ?

Now the point wasn't "if" I was reincarnated or "why" and "how", I could think about later.

I didn't care. Caring was too much to ask from me. I didn't want to care. Caring was getting hurt. Didn't care where I was, who I was. Didn't care if I was alive or in deliria. Didn't care if I was taken care of or not? Got a family or not?

Thinking was exhausting, thinking led to thousands of "what if's" and "maybe's" which led to all those new possible perspectives, opportunities, chances; and that directed straight to a spark of hope. Hope is dangerous. Hope could be someone only lifeline. Hope could fuel through anything. It could also become despair, shattering someone beyond salvation.

I didn't think. I was exhausted so I just stopped, no matter what happened if push comes to shove I'll just bleed it out. And maybe, just maybe, this time it would be the end, the final.

I just didn't care. Nothing mattered.

Spend a whole year of my baby life in a whirling in gloom and doom.

A year.

It took me a quiet year of just living.

Not knowing.

Not caring

Just living.

Eating, shitting, and sleeping.

Nothing more, nothing less

That was the point, wasn't it? Reborn to a new life.

It took me a year to snap out of it.

Melody's life was meaningless.

Melody's life wasn't hers.

Melody wasn't happy.

Melody was trapped.

NewMe was a blank canvas to be shaped into whatever I so wished.

NewMe's life was mine and mine alone.

NewMe could be free.

NewMe could be happy.

NewMe could have a meaningful life.

NewMe could have memorable death.

NewMe smiled for the first time, a small genuine smile.

freedom will be mine.

* * *

**_Be free or die trying._**

* * *

She was born on a Friday, novomber 8th;

It was a warm autumn morning, it happened in one of the family proprieties, a mansion in the hills overlooking Fasano, southern Italy, at precisely 10 p.m.

Her soft cries rang through the halls.

She was born.

Celeste mourned her love at night in private.

she didn't talk to him for so long and to be awaken by a call telling her that he wasn't coming here hurt, to be told by a stranger stung.

She dreamed of love, of a soulmate, someone, something to call hers. A protector, a friend, a lover, to stand behind; united against all.

She wanted him to be her light as cheesy as it may seem, always there, always warm. save her from the world. Now she was just cold. He didn't come. The only person she wanted to be in her corner, wasn't really.

She was alone.

The only person she was allowed to claim as _**hers**_ wasn't really

She looked at the baby in her hands;

What should she do?

He didn't come to his child birth; Had business, he said; Will take a few days, he said.

So, yes it wasn't the first time she claimed to be in labor, or that she was dying for that matter but she missed her **love;** and if she has to lie, steal and cheat then so be it. It was **love. **

**Everything's fair in love and war.**

and he loved her, didn't he? he was her husband, right? her one true love.

It was his legacy, _she_ was his legacy; he would love her, _he will_.

The baby was his even if she was hers too, it was the proof that they could work, they did make her together, he will love the child_, he __**would **__love he_r, she won't haunt the hall in the empty mansion anymore. it was her shot at happiness.

Valentin will love the child, their child, he will love her too

It will be the spark to ignite the passion of their love.

She will be loved, her husband will finaly look at her with something else than contempt

It was a little piece of him. Call her selfish; but she needed her light even if it was a little dim; and if using a baby will make him hers, it was justified.

and with thoughts of love and passion she sang to her baby promises of home and family.

* * *

Don Valentin Veleno;

Don of the Veleno familiaga, specialization in hits and production and commercialization of venoms, poisons, various chemicals and oddly enough wine. it was relatively small familiaga who survived through alliance with diverse more powerful ones.

* * *

He only came a week later.

Shoulders hunched in exhaustion and face blank but for a two millimeter smile.

he did fall in love with his first born even though it was a girl, even though she had her mother's orchid pink hair.

He never spared his wife a second glance.

He named her Bianchi, she was to be his heiress and was a source of gossip between the servants. she was the perfect heir to the Velono family; She did not smile, did not cry, did not coo and did not babble. She slept the day away, and brood while awake. If it was not for the few times Bianchi screamed to be fed when forgotten ; they thought her mute. She didn't act like her mother, she was a emo baby.

Baby Bianchi laughed for the first time when she was thirteen months old at 1 a.m.

Celeste could remember walking on her cackling in her crib. It wasn't a pleasant memories. Baby laughs should be "cuuuute" and "awwwwwwww" scenes not "creepy" and "eviiiiil!".

After that day, a switch was turned on, from zombie to barely human, she still slept a lot but she did start walking and talking.

She remained quiet though.

She learned reading and writing before the two years mark and started eating away heavy books, the Don was ecstatic over these. His baby was a mini genius. He brought her tutors and bought her toys( read= weapons that no child should have access to)

She was her daddy's girl and mommy's hope and despair.

* * *

**R&R**


	2. Chapter 2

**1-like a monster:**

Drip…drop…drip

Crimson drops

Glinting steel.

Mesmerizing canvas of flesh, bones and blood.

Stained hands. Always… always red... Never, ever clean.

She wanted them clean.

Endless void of disgust and hate

Overwhelming instinct to survive.

Crushing desire to die.

Bianchi didn't just look into the abyss, she was swallowed whole.

Every hit, every kill broke her a little bit more. Took her a little closer to that soulless monster she was trained to become, a raging merciless beast.

She could feel it the ugliness under her skin.

Settling in.

Fusing within.

The decay blossoming.

Tainted hands, broken psyche and a monster within.

Screams ringing in her ears; frightened whimpers echoing in her head; sobbing, begging shadows flashing behind her eyes.

She felt like a monster.

She was a monster.

* * *

"_No, no, no please I don't want to kill"_

"_Please, mama, please, stop I can't"_

"_I don't want to be a monster"_

_Aching of her muscles and the agony emitting from her stomach_

"_We'll double the douse next week"_

_The world spinning around her, never stopping._

"_Please let me die"_

_The pain, constantly the pain._

"_Mama please"_

_Her body screaming at her begging to be put out of misery _

"_No daughter of mine shall be weak"_

_Distorted view and ringing ears_

"_Please no more"_

_Hunger, thirst and agony_

"_errrggg…."_

_Fire in her veins_

"_Can't you just let me die?"_

_Weak, weak always so __**weak**_

"_Veleno are strong, Veleno are vicious we have poison in our blood death in our souls, steel in our bones; we do not fear pain we accept it._

_Bent and broken_

"_yes, mother"_

* * *

**2_Hero :**

She never believed in heroes

Every person she ever put her faith in, betrayed it. Let her down.

Humans were fickle and weak things after all.

Humans were evil.

She lost faith in heroes and in humanity long ago.

Ironically here she was, wishing for a hero to save her, to end this hell or maybe a hero to end her.

She was no innocent child.

She was a murderer bred and raised to kill.

Would a hero try to save this broken child?

Would a hero try to destroy this sharp sword?

Would a hero be able to hear her silent scream for help?

Or would they see her as a rabid dog to be put down?

She did not care.

She was losing herself.

She was morphing to something new.

Something dark.

She did not want to see the blasphemous product.

* * *

"_Please don't kill me"_

"_I'm sorry, I dddddidnn't do ….."_

"_Please don't kill them, not the children"_

"_You monster!"_

"_You psycho don't touch her!"_

"_Bitch you'll pay for this" _

"_Sweetheart, wake up! Sweetheart!"_

"_Ergg god I don't feel good"_

"_Help! Please! He is not breathing!"_

_A bullet to the head _

_Some powder in the drinks _

_Explosives under the seats_

_Gases through the aeration vents_

_Something in the food _

_A dagger through the heart_

_Strangulation_

_Arson_

_Defective brakes_

* * *

**3_Whispers in the dark:**

Her heart was burning.

Her blood was boiling.

Her skin itching.

Excitation thrumming in her veins

He was everything dark and dangerous.

A promise of blood of death.

The primal call for violence and carnage.

In a tiny form, clad in black

He was a whisper in the dark.

Too silent to hear.

Too quick to see.

Too quick to comprehend.

Silent steps.

Fluid motions.

Oozing confidence.

A stolen kill.

A fleeting glance.

An infuriating smirk

A flirty wink.

And like a ghost he disappear in the night.

Leaving behind a still rapidly cooling corpse and a rebooting child assassin

He was like a whisper in the dark

A shadow of the night

An unspoken invitation

Follow me into the darkness it tempted

Follow him into perdition it enticed.

And into the darkness she followed.

And the monster within was finally free

Because if she had to be a monster

Than, the best she'll become

Maybe he was her Hero

* * *

"_The Don thinks that you're a storm like him, it's in your best interest that he continue to believe that 'till the end"_

* * *

**4-Falling inside the black :**

She was always alone

Always feverish

Always cold

Her and her demons

Watching everything from afar

Sitting on the sidelines like an outsider

Silent fading in the background

Looking through the window as life pass by

She stayed away from the Frail Little bird.

Refusing to be burdened by his fragile soul and untainted heart.

He was a burden to her freedom

Too naïve too impulsive too eager to please a deep desire to belong

He too would become another shackle an anchor to keep her to force her obedience

She refused to be used, not again.

She will fly to the horizon and never look back

He will not be used as leverage against her.

She refused to be the one to taint him

She refused to be the one to break him apart and glue him back into the perfect Mafioso.

To force him to kill and kill and kill; until the scent of blood and death was infused into his skin and engraved into his brain; until Red was all his could see and the screams were all he could hear

Like her mother has done to her.

She would not be the one to welcome him to this bloody and cold existence.

So she stayed away

A lurking shadow in the mansion

Watching from afar

Watched him grow, train, always cheerful, always eager.

Watched him strain against the pressure the expectations

Watching try to prove himself to the Don to the family to her

To prove himself as the Don's son, as the rightful heir; more than a spare, more than a bastard more than her.

She watched him give everything that was him, everything; forcing himself in the perfect Mafioso mold; destroying himself for the familiaga's blessing.

She kept watching trough his pain and suffering his hope and despair through sweat, blood and tears; still he trained trying to surpass, to grow out of her shadow, the usurped Veleno princess, the genius the rightful heiress, trying to make them see that the Don wasn't wrong, that he has potential that he was worthy.

Cold mask still in place she watched.

Still alone in the dark

The silence ringing in her ears

Eyes always open always watching

* * *

_"mia stella, you want to be free. You long for it. I can see it, to be something other than a tool for the familiaga, to have a choice to have a voice, to be heard. It simple, you know. Be strong, the strongest and they'll bow, they listen. The mafia is like a jungle. You want something; you fight, you steal, you cheat for it and you kill for it._

_"Yes, mother"_

_"The aloof drifting Cloud that protects the family from an independent standpoint and whom nothing can ever bind, that is what a cloud should be, the family is restricting you, they'll lose you"_

* * *

**5-Last dusk**:

Freedoom, freedoom freedom

All about freedom

Her obsession

Breaking free of this confining prison

More scars, more corpse, more red.

Trying harder

Always stronger

Always faster

Macabre dance of death

With each body, she got harsher, her will strengthening, focusing.

She stopped noticing the bloody trails she left behind

The darkness drenched her soul

It was now all about her freedom

Her deathly passion

Until it caught up to her as it should have

She weaved the threads

And let the blood draw the flies into her web

On a moonless night; An attack was staged and a child that was never a child was lost

Burned flesh and agony filled screams

Many met their fates

Too many corpse to count

Too many corpses to uncover

In a fiery dance of death

* * *

"_The Veleno child died in the fire"_

"_We cornered her in little village she was using to recover from a mission"_

"_Outmaneuvered and outnumbered"_

"_Sir…the report came, the young mistress didn't make it, they cornered her and burnt everything down"_

"_My daughter is dead, we go hunting, I want their heads"_

"_She can't be dead! Sorella is a genius they couldn't have outsmarted her"_

"_I am sorry half the village and its habitant were lost to the fire"_

"_She isn't dead! She can't be I was supposed to be the one to defeat her!"_

"_Sorry, Hayato"_

"_No,no, she was going to accept me, acknowledge me as her brother! I was catching up!arrggg" he screamed marching out of the study._

"_Shamal, can you make sure that he's OK"_

"_yes, sure. I'm sorry for your loss. I never talked to her but from what I heard from the brat she was a true prodigy" it was said gloomily. They dealt in death and carnage daily. it was a part of them, so dying wasn't that uncommon it but not less awkward "not forgetting that she would have grown up to be a hot babe like her mother" he added before going to look for his young protégée_

"_her mother, yes" he said, dread in his guts, knowing celeste she'll go on a killing spree and bring down half the alliance on them and probably the Triade too. _

_That same night a mercenary group going by the Vultures was annihilated by a not-really avenging- mother who was more "I'm-really-sorry-no-loose ends "than "how-dare-you-kill-my-little-star"_

"_Bon voyage my little star" rang in the silent night_

* * *

**6-Parallels **

Short lean figure and graceful mannerisms;

Orchid pink hair cut short.

Eyes weighted by layers of carefully placed concealer and make-up.

Sage green eyes; dull and detached; apathetic and drained, _consumed by life_.

Blank expression.

Scarred skin; laceration upon laceration; an anchor in the madness, a mark of truth in a world of lies and embellished masks.

Shorts and hoodies.

Carefully concealed steel.

Innocent, pure and deadly.

Bianchi Veleno. Child assassin

.

.

.

Sleek figure and graceful mannerisms;

Slightly flawed skin, a vestige of teenage years

Eyes shadowed by dark circle;

Two long sections of raven black hair worn in pigtails with uneven shaggy bangs;

Lavender eyes; guarded but free. _Hungry for life_.

Curious expression, an ever-present smirk.

Countless tattoos: inked arms, inked back, inked collarbone and inked wrists; Words that need to be remembered; memories that cannot be forgotten.

Pierced flesh: eyebrow, anti-eyebrow, lip ring, nose rings, all the possible ear ones, navel's ones. A painful anchor for when it is too much. A mark of distinction reminding the wearer of what they are, who they are.

A memorial of ink and metal.

Shoulder-less lavender short dress, fingerless gloves and black leggings.

Metal choker.

Bewitching, dark and enigmatic.

Zanna Sangria; Tattoo artist, thief and freelance hit woman.

.


End file.
